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Where was I on "Bull" Conner's day,
When the world saw white-hate on display?
Attack dogs, hoses, and lawmen's feet,
Blacks felled like timber on a southern street.
As fists and batons flayed the air,
Hate left the wounded laying there.
     In spirit, I was there.
   In spirit I was always there.
   My revulsion, horror, rode the air.
 Yes, that emotion's always there.

Where was I on "John's" Dallas day,
As Camelot's caravan rolled away?
Lord!--Bullets flew like birds at play,
The smiles -and the man - ended that day.
That's how a prince is stolen away.
Yes, hatred's price is hard to pay.
     In spirit I was there,
   In spirit I was always there.
   My endless grief, depair, it rode the air.
 Yes, that emotion's always riding there.

Where was I that Sunday gone,
When on a bridge feet moved along?
Selma to Montgomery-history's note:
"Marching blacks for the right to vote."
With hope our nation heard the song,
That sang their movement onward -on.
     In spirit I was there,
   In spirit I was always there.
  My soaring hope, in tune, it rode the air.
 Yes, that emotion's always riding there.

Where was I, same "Bloody Sunday" gone,
When other men's darkness rose that dawn?
The distraught screams -the running feet,
Before the hordes of hate-retreat,
Oh, when is a bridge a bridge too far?
When racists show off just what they are!
     In spirit I was there.
  In spirit I was always there.
My righteous indignation, roaring, rode the air.
 Yes, that emotion's always riding there.

But where were all the others? Waiting at a grocery stand?
  Lamenting price and ripeness of the fruit in hand?
So annoyed if their silky stockings seams weren't straight,
  Yet, so untouched by price and ripeness of the fruit of hate!

Where was I when "King" was there,
In a Birmingham jail in Old Town Sqaure?
"The time's run out to wait," he wrote,
Eloquent, sharp and succinct bold note.
An epistle meant for the whiter folk,
"Black men's revolt will not be broke."
     In spirit I was there,
   In spirit I was always there.
   My admiration, a missile, rode the air,
Yes, that emotion's always soaring there.

Where was I when he came out that door?
A sniper's shot, and he was King no more.
The dream lives on, but the man has died,
He'd never see results in what he tried.
Racists declared, "Changes won't last"
Shouts in the night, "Give my country back."
     In spirit I was there.
   In spirit I was always there.
My weeping tears, unceasing, rode the air,
  Yes, that emotion, still, is riding there.

Where was I when the "Twin Towers" fell,
And a golden city- seemed bathed in hell?
The carnage, loss, and the hate that day,
Stole lives, and- how we thought- away.
New heroes rose, as they always rise,
Laying down their lives, was no surprise.
     In spirit I was there,
   In spirit I was always there.
My pure revulsion, wrenching, rode the air.
   Yes, that emotion's always riding there.

Where was I when "Obama" filled Grant Park?
Joy lifted us, pulling us from the darkest dark.
Old hatreds flaring-handed down- ignited,
Racist's flickering light seemed so excited.
"Show us your papers. You're a fake. You lie!"
"Give us back our country!" Same shameful cry.
     In spirit I was there,
   In spirit I was always there.
My heart exuberant, intensified, rode the air.
Oh yes, that emotion's always riding there.

But where are all the others? Attending some baseball game?
Those cheering fans they all knew every player's name.
So annoyed when the peanut vendor passed them by.
Yet, so untouched by causes for which nameless people die!
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